


when the cold comes

by regbonerqueen



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Protective Newt, This is gonna be a lot of angst, Worried Newt Scamander, sick theseus, theseus needs a hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-09-12 10:58:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16871683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/regbonerqueen/pseuds/regbonerqueen
Summary: That time Theseus is poisoned.





	1. 01

_Miserable_ is the best term to describe how Theseus is feeling when he awakens for work - five sharp, as usual. There has been a half-awareness in the back of his mind for days that he's not well, but - he has a tendency to ignore such things and fling himself back into the job. He's not entirely sure he can ignore it any longer.

Leta doesn't have to be there quite as early as he does and so, after drawing a deep breath to steel himself and push away the growing, pounding ache in his temples, he slips out of bed as quietly as he can to avoid waking his fiancee and moves to dress himself and brew some Pepper-Up potion. It'll be a late one today, and at the end, Leta has invited Newt over for dinner - an invitation that he's finally actually accepted.

His fiancee, though, bless her (sometimes, he thinks), has an uncanny ability to know when he's not well despite his best efforts to hide it (which he's prone to more often than she would like). She's up earlier than usual today, and he feels a hand at his arm just as he's reaching for the Floo powder.

"You look awful."

Lips twitch at the corners and Theseus turns to her. She's still in her nightdress, drowsy-eyed and peering up at him with concern. "Thank you, darling," he says with a forced lightness - _God, his head hurts_  - as he leans down to press his lips to her hair, unable to help himself.

"I'm serious, Theseus. I'm not sure you should go in today." Her hand is palming his forehead gently then and he suppresses a sigh, taking a step back.

"I can't. There's too much to be done. Grindelwald is on the loose again and -"

"And you have a mountain of paperwork, and the junior aurors can never seem to get anything done without you, and Travers will pitch a fit," she interrupts, doing her best impression of his voice (and it's not too bad, he thinks begrudgingly). "I know, I know. I've heard it all before. But you're burning up, and I don't think-"

Huh. So he has a fever. Somehow the words manage to surprise him a little, but he's still shaking his head  _no_. "I'll be fine." His tone gentles a bit this time. "And if I'm not, I'll come home early, yes?" Words they both know are a lie, but one he's willing to tell to comfort her.

Leta chews her lower lip for a moment before nodding and releasing his arm, though her eyes are still worried and she's looking at him like he might keel over at any moment. He hadn't thought he'd looked  _that_  badly off, but he doesn't question it, instead stepping forward to kiss her gently before he's tossing the powder into the fireplace.

"British Ministry of Magic."

* * *

Theseus comes to the gradual realization through the course of the day that he _definitely_  isn't able to ignore it anymore. He's tense and irritable with everyone, including the junior aurors, and he snaps at his assistant so hard around lunchtime that she colors instantly and he hardly sees her the rest of the day. The headache is unbearable by the time he leaves, a dull agony pounding at his temples and sometimes seeming to leech the colors from his vision when it grows particularly bad, and when he goes to hand in the paperwork at the end of the day even Travers looks at him with something that's almost passable for concern.

He's managed to forget about Newt coming over for dinner, and is so eager to collapse into bed with Leta and sleep (a foreign feeling to him) that he nearly cries when he sees the familiar blue coat in the dining room but manages to pull himself together enough to shrug his jacket off and greet his brother.

"Are you ill?" The question comes midway through dinner and is so soft that Theseus nearly misses it. It's also so unexpected from Newt that at first he thinks it'd come from Leta.

"Just a little under the weather, I suppose." A tight smile, more of an admission that he'd usually offer, but with the look Leta is giving him, he doesn't think he'll get away with another I'm fine. "I'll be right as rain tomorrow."

Theseus accidentally falls asleep on the sofa shortly after dinner and well before Newt has thought up an excuse to duck out. His sleep is uneasy, and he wakes to a crick in his neck and head tucked against Leta's arm, the two of them murmuring in hushed voices as he slumps into her. The pain in his head has only grown worse, and is now accompanied by a swell of nausea as well as general aching all round his body.

It's not until half an hour or so later that he begins to realize and accept something is well and truly wrong, when his vision grows suddenly fuzzy around the edges and the pain in his head flares up to agonizing levels as they're standing to see Newt off. His hands fly up to grip his skull, drawing a sharp breath through clenched teeth, and both of their eyes are suddenly on him.

"Theseus? Theseus, what's wrong?" Leta's hands are already on his arm, trying to pull his hand away from his head, but he holds it there insistently because maybe pressure will take some of the pain away and he can't will himself to drop it-

"My head," he croaks out finally, squeezing his eyes shut and willing the tears suddenly stinging his eyes not to fall. It's ridiculous to cry over something as small as a headache. "It hurts."

"Alright, let me just - I'm sure I can find something to help, just hold on, darling..." Over the sound of her voice, he thinks he hears Newt say something about St. Mungo's, and he tries to protest, but it's as if his tongue has suddenly turned to lead in his mouth and he can't get the words out.

He doesn't need a hospital, he tries to say, he just wants to rest - but the ground is unsteady and then turning to quicksand beneath his feet so that he can no longer stand. The next thing he knows the floor is a good deal closer than he remembers it being before and his eyes are rolling shut. After that, he knows only blackness.


	2. 02

Leta is afraid.

She hates admitting such a thing even to herself. Fear gets one nowhere. She's had to be brave her entire life - but this time she can't find that courage within herself to grasp it and grip it tight. She can't lose Theseus. She can't lose this man who has done so very much for her, given her so much. She loves him, and she can't lose him.

They don't take Theseus to St. Mungo's, not tonight; Travers, for reasons she isn't sure of, doesn't want word of this getting out, and she isn't sure if she wants to scream at him and shake him, or laugh in his face. Theseus is so still and pale, so sick, and he's worried about what the  _public_  will think.

So several healers come to their home instead, Apparate right into their living room, and they move Theseus to the bed - and then they shut the door in her face, won't let her in to see him or hold his hand. Newt stays with her through the night, sits on the couch with that anxious expression and hands clasped and gaze locked on the ground. He does not offer assurances, and Leta understands that he's afraid too; he doesn't have any to offer, so she just joins him in silence until one of the Healers emerges from the bedroom. It could have minutes, or it could have been hours - Leta isn't sure of which. Each moment seems to stretch into eternity tonight.

She shouldn't have let Theseus take off to work this morning. She should've fought him more on it, insisted that he stay home and rest, or...

"He's been poisoned."

Her gaze snaps up to meet the Healer's own, and even Newt's head jerks up at that, lips parting.

The Healer stares at her for a long moment, gaze cool, before he turns to look at Newt instead. "There is a good amount of some sort of poison in his blood, obviously magic of some sort, perhaps a potion. We're working on diagnosing the poison so that we can get him the antidote." Newt's gaze, of course, shifts away from the man and to the ground as he speaks.

"How would it have gotten to him?" Leta blurts then, and his eyes turn back to her. She understands, then, in a flash of sudden clarity, when his lip seems to twist slightly in disgust. He doesn't like her because - well, because of her name. It's not entirely unexpected, or at least it should not be, but it stings a little just the same.

"Perhaps in his food, which would seem to be the most likely case," he says at last. "The Ministry has been alerted so that they can begin to consider suspects, of course. Your fiance has been awake on and off." There's a long pause before he continues, apparently debating on whether to speak. "He's been asking for you. We can't do anything further until we know what the poison is, so you can go in and sit with him."

Leta barely takes a moment to thank him before she's moving to the bedroom door and her hand is on the knob, glancing back at Newt to see that he's alright, but he isn't looking at her so she goes ahead inside.

Theseus is asleep, at least when she moves to sit on the edge of the bed, but he stirs back to consciousness when her weight shifts the mattress. It takes a moment for his fuzzy gaze to find hers, and if her heart is already breaking at how out of it he seems, so uncharacteristic of him, she tries not to notice.

"Hello, darling." There's a lump in her throat as she takes his hand in hers, bringing the back of it to touch her lips. She tries to ignore how very hot his skin is to the touch. "Have they got you feeling any better yet?"

"Little." It's a mumble, and blue eyes rove restlessly around the room, seemingly unable to focus just on her. "'m kay, Leta." An uncomfortably hot hand comes up to pat reassuringly at her cheek, his eyes rolling shut again. "'m kay."

She catches the hand, however disconcerting the feverish heat may be, and holds it to her face, closing her own eyes. "Of course you'll be alright."

Of course he will be. He's always fine, whatever comes his way, and -

And she needs him to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would love to know your thoughts!


	3. 03

Theseus falls asleep with Leta sitting on the bed, holding his hand. When he awakens, she is gone, and he just has time to glimpse a blue coat in the doorway and a flash of ginger hair before he's acutely aware of the agony in his midsection and he's gasping, curling in on himself and squeezing his eyes shut. There's a hand on his shoulder for a moment and someone calling out and he wants to beg them to stop shouting, but when he tries the words won't come and all that he manages is an unsteady moan of pain.

In the following moments, he's only vaguely aware through the splitting pain in his head and the ache in his stomach that someone is pulling at his arm, rolling him onto his back. He's in bed. Why doesn't he remember being put into the bed? He thinks he remembers Leta sitting there, but he doesn't remember the process of being  _put_  there and it's more distressing than it should be. The lip of a bottle of some kind is at his mouth and he swallows whatever it is without protest, praying that it's something to ease the pain. After that, he welcomes the blackness that swallows him up.

* * *

Everything is dark, and the blackness is so  _heavy,_  and Theseus cannot feel his hands. All he wants is Leta, and he's constantly reaching for her and never finding her, though sometimes he can hear her voice and she seems to be  _so close_  so why can't he find her? Sometimes he opens his eyes and he thinks he sees Newt, and then he swears he only blinks and and his brother is gone. Just like Leta. Once he thinks he sees Travers in the doorway, hears him speaking sharply to someone, but maybe he's a hallucination too.

Always there is something cold on his forehead - he thinks a cold compress, or wet rags, but he can't tell anymore. Sometimes there is a bottle at his lips again and someone is trying to get him to drink, but it hurts to swallow and he tries to tell them that he doesn't want to drink, all he wants is Leta, and why isn't she there? Has she left him?

He dreams, and they are nightmares that fill him to the brim with terror. He dreams of Newt falling from one of his dragons during the war, of his baby brother hitting the ground and lying so still. He dreams of the war, of the bullet that had gone through Graves's midsection and red and yellow and green jets of light flying through the air, of sweat soaking his clothes through and hastily penned letters to his brother and parents reassuring them that everything is just fine when it couldn't be farther from it. He dreams of blue fire that consumes Leta, burns her away to ashes before his eyes and he's screaming endlessly, and then there is suffocating silence all around that makes him want to tear his hair out because  _he needs something to hold onto_.

When Theseus wakes again, Leta is still not there, but his brother is, sitting in a chair at his bedside with his head in his hands and a little green bowtruckle poking its head from his pocket as always. Pickett, he remembers dimly through the dull throbbing in his skull. Nothing hurts quite as much even more, although the pain is still there. Dull, quiet now. Not quite numbed, but close. It's better than it had been before.

"Newt?" His voice is hoarse to his own ears, and his brother's head jerks up at the sound of it, an emotion Theseus can't identify with any certainty etching itself into his expression. Relief? Worry? Both?

"You're awake," he breathes, gaze skittering away again briefly. "The Healers said you'll be alright - they've gotten the antidote in you now, but the poison was in your system too long and - well, you know, it'll take a while for it to - yeah," he murmurs, eyes lifting back to his face. It's a struggle to focus on Newt's words, and Theseus realizes vaguely that he's having a difficult time focusing on anything at all. Perhaps a side effect of whatever they've got in him? It's disconcerting.

"Where is Leta?" He doesn't remember making the decision to say the words, but they're out then, and something shutters in Newt's expression for reasons he's not sure of - at least until he speaks.

"Leta, is, ah." It's as if he doesn't want to answer, but then - "She's a suspect, you see, and she's - they're interrogating her now."


	4. 04

For a moment, Theseus is certain he must have misheard. Newt's expression doesn't change, though, and he realizes he hasn't.

"Leta is - Why do they - Where do they have her?" Shoving the covers aside, he makes to get out of the bed, only to be stopped by a hand on his arm.

"Don't try to get up," Newt says, and his voice is gentle but firm enough it does stop his efforts for a moment (well, that and the dizziness threatening to send him to the floor if he does rise). "Lie back down. Leta will be alright." His brother's voice is unhappy, and Theseus notes that of course Newt doesn't want her being interrogated either.

It's only when he lies back against the pillow that Newt continues. "They said ... they said that of course, because she lives with you, they have to be able to rule her out - and they questioned me as well, but Leta..."

Ah. It's because of her last name - because of her family and the reputation they carry. The reputation that causes fury to spark inside him each time someone looks at her wrong because of it, that has caused her so much pain throughout her years. There are still those who are angry that she is to be wed to the head Auror - those who insist her very presence allows the dark arts into the Ministry, that she's only with Theseus as a means to get to the heart of the Ministry. Outlandish, foolish accusations, but those that exist, nonetheless.

"How long has she been there?"

"They took her to the Ministry two or so hours ago." Newt is quietly worrying his lip, gaze on the floor rather than on Theseus's face. "I s'pose they ought to allow her to come back soon."

Every protective instinct he has is shouting at him to demand to speak to Travers, to one of the Aurors that's surely here to ensure nothing further happens, in order to get her out of being interrogated.  _She's done nothing of the kind._  The small bit of logic he has left reminds him that it will do no good; he can't get there on his own, and he can't force them to free her. The  _Auror_  in him reminds him that yes, of course, they must rule out every suspect, likely beginning with those close to him. It's what he would do, were it anyone else.

"They ruled you out, then?" he murmurs at last instead, turning his head to the side to get a look at Newt. His brother nods at that, finally glancing up at him.

"You frightened us." The words are unexpected, and a tad reproachful, Theseus thinks. It causes his lips to twitch at the corners, the thought that Newt is upset with him for being poisoned. "Leta told me you'd been feeling sick all day." Green eyes find their way back to the floor. "Why did you go into work? If you hadn't, if you had rested, perhaps it wouldn't have gotten so bad so fast-"

"Easy," Theseus cuts in. Newt is working himself up a little, his voice rising, and it's causing his head to start throbbing again a little. "I went into work because I can't be skipping out on it. It was just a headache, and-"

A rap at the door cuts him off, and before either of them have a chance to speak again, it swings open to reveal Travers there, looking tired and a little worse for wear. It reminds Theseus that he doesn't know how long he's been asleep, how long they've been working on this.

"Oh, good you're awake." His gaze cuts to Theseus and then to Newt. "Leta will be back shortly. We've got a suspect in custody."


	5. 05

When they have finished interrogating her, seem to have satisfied themselves for now that Leta is not a suitable suspect in Theseus's poisoning, the Aurors tell her that her fiance is awake, that he is worried for her, but conscious and even speaking. The relief that floods her is nearly overwhelming in its intensity; she hadn't realized until now how worried she had been that he would never wake or speak to them again. He had been so sick, the night so long and frightening.

At first, she had been reproachful that these Aurors, men she has been working with for over a year now, some who she would even venture to call friend, would question her like this, but that hadn't lasted long. They are only doing their job, she knows, and as the one living with Theseus, that makes her a viable suspect. The realization lessens the sting a bit, though it does precious little for her impatience to get home to him, to care for him herself. 

When she does arrive home, she finds that he has gone back to sleep and that Newt has vacated the chair at his side, perhaps to go down into his case. His curls are adorably tousled on the pillow, features drawn with pain that seems to plague him even in unconsciousness. Leta can't quite prevent herself from reaching out to run her fingers through them and it causes his expression to relax a bit, brings a faint smile to his countenance. Theseus has always been receptive to having his curls toyed with, has always loved it so. 

The thought that it helps him eases the swell of disappointment in her chest at not being able to speak with him. Is it silly that she misses him so even when he's right here? Of course he had been awake just before she had gone earlier, but he had hardly been lucid, sick and feverish as he had been. A sudden wave of guilt tightens her chest at the thought that when he had awoken, she had not been here - not that that had been her choice, to go to the Ministry and be interrogated so for hours. 

She ought not to have been surprised, really, given her last name and the rumors that constantly drift about. Rumors that she has bewitched Theseus in order to get into the heart of the Ministry, infiltrate it with dark magic. That she has him under a spell, or a love potion, or that she aims to take their beloved hero and turn him dark himself. The men she has been working with know her by now, but of course they have to consider her - 

Leta is drawn out of her thoughts by the sound of him murmuring in his sleep, faint rustling as his fingers tighten around the sheets. She moves to cover them with her own, winches at how hot they are to touch even after the Healers are meant to have given him the antidote. She wishes that she knew if it were pain or the nightmares that so often plague him causing him to become so distressed in his slumber. 

The clearing of a throat in the doorway draws her attention from her fiance and at the sight of Travers, she is forced to swallow down a prick of irritation. When will she have a moment alone with Theseus in all this mess?

"I'm terribly sorry about the whole business, Leta," he says, and her lips part slightly in surprise. It isn't often that she or anyone else gets an apology out of Torquil Travers. "We had to question you, of course, but you'll be pleased to know we have a suspect in custody - a real one." He doesn't look thrilled by the news, or perhaps it is worry she sees in his eyes. "Not a dark wizard as you would expect, but one of those who believes you've corrupted him. Someone who claims to know him personally."

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you think and if you'd like me to continue!


End file.
